21. Elara
Chapter 21
Thwack!
I barely blocked him, the hit hard enough that it vibrated through my arms. He had been getting faster and more brutal with each hour of this never ending training session. With only two days to prepare, I should be grateful that I was at least getting a taste of what a real fight should be, but I was exhausted. My entire body shook as I dropped my arms and saw exactly what that hit had done.
The wooden sword that had seen the Boy and I through so many training sessions, and was more than a little dented and battered, had been cleaved in half.
I heaved in breath, chest shaking as I wiped the sweat from my brow, well aware that it was dripping on and over every possible part of my body. Every inch from head to toe was damp and sticky, giant rings clinging to my dress and sticking the cotton to my skin. I could barely move, and I was not the one wearing head to toe leathers.
“Do you need a break?” I asked, my words coming in beats between breaths. He clicked twice and shook his head, flipping his battered wooden blade end over end.
“Good, me neither.” I was still having trouble forming complete sentences. I didn’t miss the chuckle that echoed behind his shroud. It was late, the sun had set hours ago, or I thought it had, everything was blending together between thwacks. We really should be done for the day, or night, or morning, or whatever it was; but at this point, fight training was probably more valuable than sleep.
Trying my hardest to control my breathing, I rose to my full height and glared him down. No way was I going to stop now. His chuckle ended with a sharp intake of breath as he flipped the sword again, gesturing toward me and then the chaise with his other hand.
“I’ll rest after this is over. For now,” I swung the sword forward. If he didn’t start the next round, I would. The broken stub of wood I held out, however, was anything but ominous. He chuckled again, which earned him another look.
“Well, what else am I supposed to fight with?” I heaved again. At least the words all came out in one go that time. He flipped his sword again and shook his head, again gesturing toward the chaise.
“I’m not resting. We have to keep going. The Pankreatin is tomorrow night, and I’ll face much more than wooden swords.” Saying it aloud tightened that knot in my chest.
I really didn’t know what I would be facing.
I had only seen one Pankreatin before Mother had deemed me too ‘sick’ to make many appearances and locked me away. I remembered the brutal fights with both swords and magic. The way the explosions had mixed with the clang of metal was something that had made my jaw drop in amazement then; now it was just dread.
It wasn’t the first time I questioned what I was doing. Showing Mother I wasn’t some sickly princess, though, would be worth it.
I held tight to the wooden nub until my knuckles turned white and faced him, well aware I had no weapon, but more aware that I would probably face the same in the arena. My stocking feet slid on the wood floor as I moved into a fighting stance, pulling the half a sword back. I didn’t give the Boy any time to plan what he was going to do before I darted at him, attempting to plunge what was left of my sword right into his belly.
The tiniest of gasps echoed from him as he dodged, rotating away and grabbing the battered blade of my sword. The wood went flying, his heavy cape circling around me. It would have been enough to trap me if I hadn’t fully anticipated this move. Before what was left of my sword clattered to the ground I grabbed his, wrenching it from him as he spun around. By the time he faced me again the point was inches away from him.
My grin stretched. I knew I looked smug, but I didn’t care. I had defeated him.
“Hands up.” I tried to sound forceful and victorious, but he simply stood there.
Before I saw what was coming, he dropped his weight, hands grabbing for the sword. I dodged, swiping furiously. I refused to let him take this win that easy. He, however, dodged every attack I sent his way, his body moving so fast he looked like little more than a wall of shadow. I only caught what he was about to do a second before he did it, his hands wide as he spun and threw the imaginary magic the same as we had played at a so many times before.
The sword clattered to the ground as I froze, staring from the spot on my chest where the magic would have hit had it been real. Normally I would act it up, sputter and gasp and stagger back. This time I just stared at where the imaginary magic hit me in the chest. The Boy stood there, hands still outstretched before he shook his head at my defeat.
“Fuck!” I swore, unprincess-like as I usually was and sagged to the floor, ripped and stained skirts billowing around me. “Magic.”
I had been thinking about the fights I had seen, but I had been so focused on the swords I had forgotten what I would actually be facing.
Magic, the lack of which was what made me too sick and disappointing. It also made me an easy target.
What was Aeinya thinking even suggesting this?
“How in the Ether am I going to face magic?” I asked the Boy who was squatting before me, handing me the unbroken sword with a click of his tongue.
We needed to keep fighting, but somehow being defeated by fake magic hit me harder than all the swipes from the wooden swords that I was sure left bruises up and down my arm.
There was no way I could win, no way I could even show her what I could do.
How could there be, unless I had magic.
Magic that exploded bureaus.
Still sitting on the floor, I turned toward the open door to my room, to the remains of the bureau that was still littered all over the floor. Neither of us had brought it up again, not after what had happened immediately after became much more pressing. But now…
I had seen the white light explode from my hand. I had seen the magic.
I stood slowly, leaving the Boy in the middle of the floor, still holding the sword out to me as I turned to the wreckage.
I knew what I had seen, I had tried all night to recreate it. As impossible as it was, I knew what had happened. Even now I could feel it shimmer its way over my skin. Magic like that, it would change everything.
His gloved hand wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me from my trance as I stared down the bureau as if it would come to life and give me answers.
“Last night, when you rushed into my room…” I began and he visibly stiffened. I plowed on before he darted behind his partition again. “I was angry and something happened, something flew out of my hand and did that.”
I looked from him, to the bureau, to the callused and slightly dirt covered palm of my hand.
“Magic,” I whispered the word, almost as though it was forbidden. Maybe it was, the histories said that magic had been split when the Goddess killed the last of the Fae, that the Fae split it with their last breath in order to punish us.
But what if it was joining back together.
“Magic without a Catalyst.”
I looked up to the Boy, half expecting him to be shaking his head, or to make some gesture about how crazy I was. He only stood, that expanse of black staring down at me.
“That’s not possible? Is it?” It was a silly question, one with no answer. Yet the Boy stood frighteningly rigid, his breathing clearly accelerating.
“Boy?” The false name for him burned my lips, his body posture sending a ripple of panic twisting through me. “What is it?”
He didn’t click, he didn’t move. He only stood, that shroud continuing to shutter under his breath before he grabbed my hand, that shroud looking toward my palm, and then to the charred bureau.
“Boy?” My voice shook as his hand tightened around mine and he practically pulled me out of my room.
The hallways were dark and cold, it was late enough that even the sconces lighting the corridors had burned down to nothing, leaving ebony shadows of low flickering flame that sent more ominous indigo shadows over gray stone and turned every nook and cranny into watching eyes and stretching fingers.
My stockinged feet slid on the floor, the smooth wood transitioning to cold stone as he began to run.
“Where are we going?” I hissed. It was late enough that there was no one in the corridors that I could tell, but that didn’t mean I wanted someone to come running.
“What is it?” I didn’t know why I was asking so many questions. He didn’t even click in response or recognition as he picked up his pace, his grip tightening as I stumbled.
One hall after another whipped by as he ran and I stumbled, unable to find my footing on slick socks against slicker stone. My heart beat wildly against my chest, my confusion morphing into a panic that was trying to erupt out of me. Tingles of fire that were running over every inch of my skin, the pops of heat sparking the same way it had the night before.
Stumbling, I looked at my free hand, half expecting it to be bright with that same light; but there was nothing but calluses and dirt smudges that looked even dirtier in the dark.
Through the panic, it took me a moment to realize where he was taking me. It wasn’t the training hall, or the throne room, or even my family's room. It was the one place I wasn’t supposed to be, the one place I wouldn’t even risk going to.
The Red Wing.
On the far side of the castle were the stone walls that extended into Turin, the barracks where all Requisites and Catalysts in training were housed. This part of the Runturin was the original part of the castle before the Black War and the fortress had been built. The long halls extended into the city in one long stone finger that wrapped nearly to the large stone gates at the other side of the city. Long ago, I had tried to investigate these halls, or find my way into the training paddock, but even the Boy had taken me back. It was the one time he stopped me from going anywhere, he had been firm enough I had never tried to adventure in after that.
But now, he was the one leading me in.
“Why–?” I stopped my questions in their tracks. It wasn’t like I would get an answer anyway.
His black cape fluttered as we raced around another corner only to stop in place, leaving me to run into his back.
“What–?” The question was extinguished in a gasp thanks to the supple leather of his glove wrapping around my mouth, his body a firm weight against mine as he pinned me against cold stone. Every inch of him pressed against me, his hand over my mouth as a soft ‘shhh’ whispered through the shroud. The shroud that was closer than it had ever been.
Closer than he had ever been.
Every inch of him was a drawn line against me, his warmth radiating everywhere, even through the leather. The air suddenly felt too hot, and there definitely wasn’t enough of it. My heart beat loudly in my chest as he held himself against me, his head turning slightly toward a sound I could barely hear above the thunder of my heart in my ears.
“Shhhhh…” he said again, the shroud fluttering at the soft sound, the fabric so close it rippled against my cheek as footsteps and voices echoed from somewhere in the distance.
The footsteps moved closer, the murmur of voices rising into something loud and angry. I had hidden from courtiers and lords for years, mostly to gain gossip, but that was never dangerous. That would only end in a frown and me running back to my rooms in fits of laughter.
This did not feel like that.
This felt dangerous, and the way he was holding me made it only more so. He was scared, and that was enough to suck the thrill of adventure right out of me.
“I heard they only knew he was there afterwards, left a letter for the queen,” one of the men was saying, his voice a low whisper that echoed ominously down the hall. “The bastard snuck in.”
“The fucking bloodsuckers,” the second voice was a harsh hiss compared to the first and the Boy stiffened against me, his breathing picking up in something I could only explain as fury. “I would have taken his head off right there. Who the fuck cares about the wedding. We need to end the lot of them. They shouldn’t be allowed to exist.”
“Well, you heard Queen Dalyah last week. It’s up to us to end them all.”
“At least Batian agrees with her. I’m done with the weakness in Okivo, once Batian becomes Ramal everything is going to change.” They both laughed at that, but the sound was harsh and ominous and sent more of those sparks of heat rippling over my bones in a way that was almost painful. I shuddered, the Boy's weight against mine increasing.
“I can hardly wait, then the real fun begins. I know who I’m going to start with.” They both laughed again, the Boy stiffening even more against me.
He was pressed so tightly against me I could feel every muscle in his chest tighten, feel the sharpness of his breath as it pushed through the shroud, the fabric soft against my face as the scent of pine drifted off him.
“I’m done waiting. She keeps promising the end. It’s time we act.”
I had no idea what they were talking about, but I had a feeling the Boy did. His breathing was so sharp, his muscles so tight, it was making everything in me tighten in panic.
The voices faded, his body relaxing against mine as the last of their conversation faded into nothing, my focus pulled back to him as his did to mine. His hand still covered my mouth, his ragged breathing rattling against my own chest as we stood there, absolutely plastered to one another.
My heart caught, that thunder of panic and fear missing a beat. I tried to see his eyes, the memory of that emerald shade of his eye still so clear. There was nothing, though. Nothing but darkness as that shroud turned back toward me. His hand slid from my mouth, gliding over my cheek until his palm cradled me there, his gloved thumb grazing over my lip.
I could see none of him, nothing but the memory of what I had seen before. It was enough. I was frozen beneath him and the stone wall I could have sworn was on fire as I stared at him. As he stared at me.
“Boy?” By the Goddess how I wished I had something, anything, else to call him.
He exhaled again, the sound ragged before he pulled away, his weight leaving my body in what felt like a longing scream that ripped from me.
His hand, so warm against my cheek, slid down my arm, wrapping around my hand. I half expected him to take off at a run again, but he stood there, staring.
“I wish I knew your name,” I had said that to him before, in the beginning when he and my situation was all new and everything didn’t feel so ominous.
But I didn’t think I wanted to know it as bad as I did right then. His name, his story. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know him like he knew me.
He shook his head, his freehand lifting as though he would cup my cheek again before he stepped back.
There was only one breath, one exhale of both hope and loss before he turned and darted down the corridor again, leaving me to slip and slide behind him once more.
I said nothing as we ran, the corridors and stone walls a blur as we moved deeper into the barracks and the maze of wooden doors that were all placed equidistant from each other. It was all the same, I would have sworn he was lost until he pulled to a stop before a wooden door at the end of the hall.
It was a door like all the others, yet it felt even more ominous after being dragged there. That feeling did not dissipate as he dropped my hand, all those tingles drifting to nothing at the loss of his touch.
Why did I have a feeling there was some kind of monster to conquer on the other side of this door? What I wouldn’t give for him to say one word and prep me for what was about to happen. I liked adventure, but standing there in the dark was sucking the last of the air from my lungs.
He turned to me one last time, no sound whispering from him before he pushed the door open and revealed a space I knew all too well.
Of course, I had always seen it from the high turret that stood in the middle and not from the sand covered yard. But it didn’t matter, this was as familiar to me as everywhere else in Runturin.
The training yard of the accolades.